


Finding Family

by hoppnhorn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: One of the several ways I imagine a Gendrya reunion would go. Plus a dash of Jon/Gendry bonding and a Arya/Jon reunion.





	1. Chapter 1

It happened in passing, a mumbled thought that barely registered, if not for the name. Her name. Jon uttered it with a small smile and Gendry nearly lost his footing.

“I haven’t seen Arya since she was a little girl. She’ll be a young woman, now.” Her brother whispered, almost to himself, as they stood together at the helm of the Dragon Queen’s ship. Gendry’s hands froze in place on the railing, his heart all but stopping in his chest.

_Arya._

“My sister.” Jon suddenly clarified, a little smile lifting one side of his mouth. “She returned to Winterfell while I was on Dragonstone. I hadn’t heard word of her since my father was killed, when I was on the Wall.” He looked back out over the sea, as if his stare would bring them to White Harbor a moment sooner. “That was so long ago.”

“It’s lucky she made it home.” Gendry breathed, his pulse hitching into his throat. He thought of Arry, the girl dressed as a boy, with wide grey eyes and chopped hair. “A lot can happen between Kings Landing and Winterfell. I would know.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon murmured, meeting his eyes. “What happened to you, with the Red Woman…”

“Actually, it’s not the worst thing to happen to me.” Gendry joked lightly, looking away to hide the guilt that bubbled in his stomach. “I’ve been tortured. I’ve been starved. And…I’ve lost people.”

Jon nodded. “We all have.”

“I’m glad your sister is alive.” Gendry said. His chest fluttered as he recalled his last words to Arya Stark. _You wouldn’t be my family. You would be my lady._

“Me too.” Jon exhaled and their breath met in a swirl of white. “She always treated me like family.”

Gendry had to close his eyes to keep from groaning in pain.

“Arya always loved me, even though I was a bastard.” Jon smiled out at the water and Gendry’s hands shook.

“Having a family must be nice.” He managed. Jon moved to say something, but Gendry shook his head and eased a half smile onto his face. “After meeting my Uncle, I think I was better off on my own.” A gloved hand clapped Gendry’s shoulder and he met the King’s eye. His gaze was black and endless.

“You will always have a place at my table, Gendry.” Jon vowed in a low voice. “You saved my life. You saved all our lives.”

“And I would do it again, your Grace.”

They exchanged a small nod and Jon dropped his hand. As their eyes watched the waves, a peace settled in the air.

“I could declare you a Lord, when we arrive at Winterfell.” Jon said softly.

Again, Gendry almost stumbled in shock.

“A Lord?”

“Lord Gendry Baratheon.” Jon raised an eyebrow and smiled. “First of his name.”

“But, the Queen…”

“—knows that you are as loyal to her claim as I am.” Jon cut him off with a serious stare. “Daenerys isn’t her father. You are not yours.”

Gendry nodded and stared out at the water, the bitter cold biting at his cheeks. Jon didn’t push and they were quiet for a long while, listening to the waves lap at the side of the ship.

“I never even met my father, to tell the truth of it.” Gendry finally muttered. “I saw him once in a parade. He was just a fat man in a crown.”

Jon laughed and Gendry had to crack a smile at the sound. It was the first time he’d heard it since they’d met on Dragonstone. When quiet settled again, Gendry sighed.

“Lord Baratheon. Don’t know the first thing about being a Lord.” He mumbled. Jon grinned.

“Like I know how to be a King?” They were smiling at each other again. Jon’s gaze was warm when he found Gendry’s eye. “You are the last of your house, Gendry. You risked your life for mine. I owe you much more than your name.”

Gendry swallowed as his mind honed in on what his heart hadn’t stopped screaming. _Arya._

“It was my duty, to my King.” He answered plainly.

“The words of a Lord.” Jon replied. “If you so wish.”

Gendry stared out at the sea and thought of the name: Baratheon. He recalled the foggy memory of King Robert, portly on his horse as he rode through the city. He thought of his Uncle Stannis and the haunting emptiness of his eyes. His uncle had killed his own brother with dark magic. And these were the men of his lineage. They were his family.

“You could rebuild your house. Make it better.”

Jon could read his mind, it seemed.

“If I survive this war, you mean.” Gendry murmured soberly. Jon grasped his shoulder a second time, looking him hard in the eye.

“Then you will write an honorable ending for your house.” He loosened his hold and smiled. “But when we live, you will write a new beginning.”

Gendry could only breathe as he pictured a stag, flapping on banners and beautifully crafted into armor, weighing on his chest. A castle of stone. His heart blazed as he foolishly thought of Arya Stark, dressed in yellow. His house. His words.

“Ours is the Fury.” He said aloud.

“Winter is Coming.” Jon replied.

* * *

 

They arrived at White Harbor and immediately set out on horseback. There was an urgency in their party, or perhaps it was just Gendry who felt like he could run to Winterfell. But when he saw Jon’s face, he knew he wasn’t alone. His friend was eager to return home and see his family.

 _Arya_.

Her name was like a dagger in his heart. Each time he thought of her, his lungs would squeeze and his chest would shudder. She was his deepest regret and his greatest wish. He wasn’t sure what he wished for, exactly. But the fire in his veins told him he needed to see her again. And this time, nothing would stop him from staying by her side.

Unless she killed him.

The thought had crossed his mind, more than once. If the bits of stories he’d collected from the Hound rang true, then the girl he’d lost wasn’t the woman that awaited him. She was harder, sharper. Then again, so was he.

“Are you nervous?” Davos called to him from his horse, the older man smiling pleasantly. Gendry shook his head.

“Ready to get out of this cold.”

“Winter is here, son.” Davos said with a laugh. “There’s no escaping the cold now.”

“Never thought I’d miss my forge.” He mumbled. “At least I could feel my hands.”

When they came over a rise, the rest of his mumbling died on his lips. In the distance he could see it. Dark against a blanket of white.

Winterfell.

“It’s a sight, isn’t it?” Davos asked with a smile. Gendry couldn’t manage an answer. His heart was singing to him. _Go. Go faster._

Jon picked up his pace at the head of their group, urging his horse across the snow. And Gendry found himself following, pulse in his throat.

* * *

The gates were open before they approached and they entered in a smooth precession into the majestic stone fortress. Gendry felt a rush of pride at the white banners bearing the grey direwolf of House Stark. This was her family. This was her home. All these years of imagining Winterfell and here he was, being welcomed inside.

Queen Daenerys remained at Jon’s side inside the gate, her silver hair blending seamlessly into the snow that frosted her coat. Gendry and Davos followed close behind, along with Lord Tyrion and the Hound.

Lady Stark was the first person Gendry could distinguish from the crowd. She stood tall and fierce, her red hair blazing against the browns and grays surrounding her. She was as beautiful as Davos had described with her sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Her face was one of nobility.

But her face wasn’t the one that made him shiver with elation.

Arya stood to her sister’s right, hands clasped behind her back and chin raised. She was everything he remembered, and yet so much more. Raven hair against skin as pale as the snow that fell around them. Her eyes darted to each visitor with such awareness, he could practically feel her gaze when she finally found him.

There was a flare of recognition.

Then she was looking elsewhere, unmoved.

His heart clamored in his chest, calling to her. _Arya._ But she was bending down now, speaking to a man seated in a chair. Her hand rested on the man’s shoulder and Gendry realized he must be Bran Stark. With dark hair and eyes, the resemblance between brother and sister was easy to see, especially as their faces remained so easily blank. Lady Sansa seemed the only one of her siblings displaying any kind of joy. But she checked it well, lifting her head when a smile threatened to break the surface.

Jon dismounted in a smooth movement and helped Daenerys from her horse, his hands gentle on her arm as she slid from the saddle. Gendry somehow managed not to fall from his own. With both feet on the ground, he watched Arya as Jon turned to his family.

Then her mask slid away.

One moment, he was staring at an immovable statue of the girl he remembered. The next, her face cracked into an expression of anguish and relief. She moved like lightning across the snow until she was in her brother’s arms, choking on sobs as he squeezed her hard.

“Arya.” Jon repeated her name until Gendry felt it ghost over his own lips. Lady Sansa politely dabbed tears from her eyes while Arya buried her face in Jon’s furs, arms wrenching him closer and closer until she could pull him no tighter.

“Welcome home, your Grace.” Sansa spoke softly, but loud enough for the courtyard to hear. Jon lowered Arya slowly, wiping his sister’s tears with gloved fingers. The smile on her face was radiant as they exchanged quiet words, private words.

Gendry looked awkwardly at the ground as they spoke.

“How did you know her?” Davos whispered.

Gendry whipped around to look at the old man, swaying slightly in the snow.

“What?”

“Lady Arya.” Davos clarified with a sly smile. “How did you know her?”

“What makes you—“

“You’ve been saying her name in your sleep for days, son.” Davos stated. “I wasn’t sure why until just now. But I’d bet you knew her.”

Gendry looked back across the courtyard, just as Jon introduced Daenerys to Lady Sansa. Arya was watching him now, her eyes still wet from tears. He wished she’d run to him, but she remained in place as Lady Sansa dipped her head to the dragon Queen.

“I knew a girl named Arry.” He whispered. Arya’s eyes flickered to his lips and he knew she could see his words. “And she was my family.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so many people left comments saying they wanted more, I had to keep going. Thank you to everyone who commented and thanks for reading!

They all broke bread in the great hall of Winterfell, the room filled with bodies as everyone huddled for warmth. The meal was simple: bread, stew, and ale. Nothing extravagant, but it tasted like heaven to Gendry. He hadn’t had a warm meal in so long, he’d forgotten the feeling of hot stew on his tongue. Judging by the men around him, he wasn’t the only one.

The Hound had lifted his bowl from the table to spoon the stew directly into his mouth. Gendry snorted and the man shot him a glare.

“Something funny?”

“You’re eating like a hound.” Gendry joked, watching and waiting for the sign of an attack. But the Hound merely smirked and dropped his bowl to the table.

“Think you’re clever, boy?”

“You were eating like a beast.” Arya’s voice startled both men, heads whipping around to face her. She’d appeared like a phantom, standing beside Davos at their table. The older man nodded his head in greeting while Gendry tried not to choke on the stew in his throat.

“My Lady.”

“Ser Davos.” She replied politely, glancing ever so slightly in Gendry’s direction as she spoke. Davos cleared his throat.

“May I introduce Gendry of house Baratheon—“

“They know each other.” Sandor grunted, chewing on bread now as he looked from Arya to Gendry. “This one followed her around like a lost pup.”

“Baratheon.” Arya ignored the Hound entirely, her gazed fixed on Gendry like she was trying to pry the truth from his face.

“My father was Robert Baratheon.” He murmured. “The usurper.” Gendry added the distinction quickly. He wasn’t sure how comfortable the Queen sat with his name even though Jon had insisted his loyalty was unquestioned.

“He’s loyal to your brother, my Lady.” Davos chimed in. “And he’s handy in a scrap.”

“Is he?” Arya asked quietly, her brow arched. Gendry’s chest warmed as she questioned him.

“Never learned the sword. But I’m good with a hammer…when I have one.” He shot a glare at the Hound, who rolled his eyes.

“You can make another bloody hammer.”

“Do you know how long it took for me to make THAT one?” Gendry shot back, shaking his head.

“How long?” Arya asked. The anger on Gendry’s face melted away instantly.

“A while.” Arya’s eyes latched onto him and he watched her think. She was more beautiful than he’d imagined. Her beauty wasn’t graceful like her sister’s but bold: dark brows, steel irises, and skin so white it shone. Her face was sharper than it had been, but still heart-shaped with her soft cheeks and angled jaw.

“Get a bloody room.” Sandor grunted.

Gendry’s rage flared like fire in his skull. He shot up onto his feet, but it was Davos who spoke first.

“Why don’t you show me the forges, son.” He offered, gripping Gendry’s forearm. In truth, the two of them had already inspected the forges of the keep. Jon had asked Gendry for advice on working the dragon glass. He’d been surprised, however, when the King had asked him to oversee the six smiths of Winterfell, instead of wielding a hammer himself.

His teeth were clenched as he stepped from the table, his glare trained on the Hound’s face.

“My Lady.” Davos smoothly bid Arya goodnight, but Gendry was still cranking down on his molars. Arya merely dipped her head in return, her eyes dancing with mischief. She was enjoying his rage, Gendry realized. He’d reacted badly to a simple jab, one that he would have easily dismissed years ago. Gendry loosed his stance and bowed slightly at the waist.

“My Lady.” He spoke softly.

When he stood, Gendry hid a smirk. The teasing in her eyes was gone, replaced with a look of intent. Not anger. Not irritation. She stared at him with promise and he had to hide a shudder.

* * *

 

“If you don’t want Clegane making comments, you should mind your eyes, Gendry.” Davos offered gently as they walked in the night, snow falling steadily.

“My eyes?”

“You look at her like you’re a lost man.” Davos murmured. Gendry had to laugh, the heat of his breath white in the dark. He shook his head and stared into the black of the sky, slowing his stride until he was stopped.

“I thought she was dead.” He finally whispered to the heavens. Closing his eyes, he fought back on the weight of his guilt. “When I heard what the Frey’s had done to her brother…” He dropped his head and exhaled, remembering how he’d tried to hold himself upright when he’d heard the news. When he’d heard the story in the Street of Steel, it was nothing more than a passing tale to the smiths around him. Gendry hadn’t been able to breathe. He’d stared into the flames for hours that day, unable to feel or think about anything except how he’d failed. How he should have been with Arya Stark. How he should have gone looking for her, instead of returning to Kings Landing.

“Her own brother thought she was gone, Gendry.”

“But I was her friend. I left her.” He wheezed. “I left her.”

“You were taken, son.” Davos reminded him, gripping his shoulders to force him to look into the man’s eyes. “Taken by the Red Woman, Melisandre. Bled and imprisoned.”

“I told her I wanted to stay with the Brotherhood.” Gendry choked, his own words pounding in his ears. _You wouldn’t be my family. You would be my Lady._

“You were a boy.”

“She was my family.” He hissed, angry at the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “The only family I ever had, and I left her.”

“You didn’t leave me.”

Gendry flinched at her voice now, looking away while Davos stepped from him. Arya stood a distance behind them, undetected by either man until she'd spoken aloud.

“My Lady—“

“Ser Davos, I have something to discuss with Lord Baratheon.”

“I’m not a Lord.” Gendry grumbled, receiving a cocked brow from Davos.

“Yet.” Arya clarified.

“I’ll find you later.” Davos murmured, clapping him in the back. “My Lady.” He bowed quickly then the man was gone. They were alone. Alone in silence that seemed to stretch on for hours.

“You didn’t leave me.”

She repeated the words and Gendry scoffed. When she appeared in front of him, he held in the urge to look away. He was stripped, raw and vulnerable, facing the one woman who could ruin him entirely.

“I did.”

“I recall you being sold. Against your will.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then explain what you mean.”

Gendry huffed and Arya lifted a single brow. His chest fluttered, recognizing the playfulness on her face. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even upset. Her expression was like glass, but her mood was clear to him.

“Arya.”

“I told you I could be your family.” Her voice cut him like a blade. “You said I wasn’t.”

“You were.” He breathed. “You always were.”

“Then why did you want to stay with the Brotherhood?” She pushed. Gendry sighed and shook his head.

“I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Yes.” He snapped. Arya’s brows fell to a straight line, her mouth open. “I’m a bastard, a low born. You are a Lady. I would have followed you to Winterfell, but you…” Her hand found his, sending a shock through his arm. She was like ice in his sweating palm.

“You thought I would forget you.” She whispered. He clenched his jaw. “Forgotten you and married a Lord while you make swords for my brother.” He glanced up to see her eyes were dancing again. Gendry sighed out a small laugh.

“Something like that.” Arya laced her fingers in his.

“You always were stupid.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am beyond grateful for the overwhelming support and can only say thank you! I hope you enjoy :)

Arya reminded Gendry of a cat that had roamed outside his forge on the Street of Steel. It used to walk on the top of a wall, back and forth, back and forth. Going nowhere but where it had already been. She was the same, walking atop the walls of Winterfell, looking out over the still winter beyond. Back and forth, foot falls silent as she went.

He’d watch her from below, working among the smiths as they hurried to prepare the dragon glass into spears, arrows, and anything else they could manage. It was tricky, working with the brittle material. Experienced smiths struggled as much as he did, sweating for long hours over the flames of their forges. When he took breaks to just breathe, there’d she be.

Pacing.

Back and forth.

They hadn’t said much to each other since she’d taken his hand nights ago. She’d caught his eye across the great hall once or twice, but didn’t advance. And he wasn’t thick enough to approach her in front of Jon.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to broach the subject of Arya with the King. One could argue that he’d lied to Jon about knowing his sister. He was still low born and the King was…the King.

He watched Arya pace back again, her dark figure making not a sound.

“Careful she doesn’t see you.”

Gendry looked to his side, finding Podrick Payne, a squire. He gave the man a small frown.

“Why?”

“She caught me watching her once…next time we practiced she knocked me senseless.” Podrick said with a grin on his face. Gendry’s cheeks heated as the squire gazed up at Arya.

“Practiced?”

“She’s been teaching me the sword with Lady Brienne. Lady Arya is an incredible swordsman.” Podrick replied. Gendry shifted his stance and the squire seemed to remember himself, shaking his head and lowering his eyes. “Woman. Swords…woman?”

“She fights you?”

“Well…” Podrick blushed, looking at his feet. “She mostly wins.” He sheepishly looked up. “But I don’t mind losing.”

Gendry realized he’d been holding his breath when it came out in a huff.

“You should try to win. You lose out there, you die.” He grumbled, turning away to stride back into his forge. Rubbing his hands on his apron, he grit his teeth. The jealously burning in his chest was childish. The squire was harmless.

“I’ve fought before.” Podrick piped up, following him into the heat. Gendry hid an eye roll. “Lady Brienne and I killed Ramsey Bolton’s men when they hunted for Lady Sansa.”

Gendry froze, peering at the squire over his shoulder.

“Hunted?”

Podrick nodded once.

“She ran from him and Ramsey sent men and hounds after her.” Gendry hid a shiver. He couldn’t imagine Lady Stark running from hounds. Helpless. “We killed his men and brought her to Jon at the Wall.”

Gendry picked up a hammer, gripping it hard.

“The dead aren’t like Bolton guards.” He muttered, remembering the glowing eyes and unearthly screams of the dead army. ”They will fight you, even when you cut them in two.”

“I’m ready.” Podrick held his chin high when Gendry turned. With a sigh, he shook his head at the squire.

“You won’t be. No one can be. Seeing a wight is like staring death in the face.” Gendry let the fear he’d felt north of the Wall grip his heart once again. He let it ripple up to his eyes and Podrick paled. “You won’t be ready.”

“I can try.” Podrick replied nobly. Watching the man’s face, Gendry softened.

“That’s all any of us can do.”

* * *

 The King called a meeting after the last meal of the day. But it was Arya who found Gendry before he’d left the hall.

“Not you.” She said softly, blocking his way as he’d risen from eating. “Jon wants you to stay.”

They exchanged a look and he felt his heart triple in speed.

“Arya—”

“I know.” She answered swiftly, grey eyes calming him. “You’ll always be a bastard boy to me.”

Her small smile brought a matching grin to his lips.

“How will this go?” He asked, watching people as they filed out to leave only the leaders of the great houses. Arya shrugged, hands clasped behind her back.

“I’m not sure.”

He wiped his palms on his tunic, aware that they’d started to sweat. Only then did he notice the ash on his clothes and skin.

“Fuck, I’m not dressed for this…”

“You’ve been working.” She said with a smirk. “Working to arm their men.”

He shook his head, panic starting to rise in his chest. “I’m not a Lord. I’m a filthy smith from Flee Bottom.” His voice lowered as he leaned closer. “They’ll never accept me.”

“Make them. Be a Baratheon.” Arya’s voice broke through his anxiety, her warm gaze enveloping him like an embrace. Grey eyes held his blue and Gendry let the room slip from his awareness. He thought of only her. Arya Stark. The girl he thought he’d lost and the woman he’d never leave again.

“Arya.” Lady Stark was the one who broke their stare, her voice reserved as she glanced shyly between them. Gendry dipped his head to Sansa and stepped away, aware of the heat growing on his cheeks. Sansa moved gracefully to the front of the hall and, after a nod to Gendry, Arya followed.

The two were so different, walking side by side. Sansa’s long, red locks were bound back from her face in decorated braids while Arya’s dark hair was tied methodically in a small knot. Sansa’s furs and coat trailed her on the floor and her shoes clicked with authority; but Arya made no noise at all, moving like a shadow.

Gendry recalled the story that had been whispered around the keep. The story of the execution of Lord Baelish. The story of how the Stark sisters had dispatched of a traitor: one with a sentence and the other with a dagger.

Watching them now, Arya standing to the side while her sister sat, Gendry saw it clearly. Sansa wasn’t a warrior, like Arya or Lady Brienne. But she was lethal all the same, her sister by her side.

Jon stood from his seat beside Daenerys, a hush falling over the hall.

“My Lords.” He addressed them, eyes circling the room. “My Lady.” He added, dipping his head to a young girl, Lyanna Mormont, Gendry recalled. “I’ve called you here as witnesses.”

Rumbling voices broke out and men shifted their weight, eyes finding Arya in the corner. If he hadn’t been so nervous, Gendry would have found it all humorous. The Lords of the North, anxiously avoiding the gaze of little Arya Stark.

“Gendry.” Jon called to him, breaking the chatter into silence.

His feet felt like lead as he stepped forward, trying his best to keep from shaking. The Queen’s eyes settled on him as he approached, her lilac irises raising the hair on his neck. But her expression was smooth, kind. Jon’s was warm, a smiling growing larger on his face as Gendry came to the front of the hall.

When he stood at the center of room, he stopped and tried to breathe. In. Out.

_Be a Baratheon._

“Your Grace.” He addressed both the King and Queen, dipping his torso in a stiff bow. When he stood upright again, Gendry was surprised to find Daenerys standing beside Jon, her hands folded neatly at her waist.

“You have sworn your loyalty to Jon Snow, the King in the North.”

“I have, your Grace.” He vowed, his chest swelling with a strange mix of fear and pride.

“And I have pledged the loyalty of the North to Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon added, his eyes moving around the room as men shuffled their weight. Their alliance was still new, but even the Lords of the North had realized the advantage of two dragons circling Winterfell.

“Do you swear loyalty to your Queen and your King?” Daenerys asked, her stare sending a shudder down Gendry’s spine.

“I do, your Grace.”

“Kneel.”

As he did as instructed, clumsily finding one knee on the stone floor, he realized he’d failed to stop his hands from trembling. Staring down at his boot, Gendry wondered if he should feel more happiness than fear.

“From this day until your last day, you are Gendry of House Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands.”

When he stood, Gendry’s hands were still.

* * *

 There was a little celebration, as much as possible when war is pressing down. Men drank, clapped him on the back, congratulated him, and then slowly the hall emptied.

When Jon found Gendry, there were few people left. His friend embraced him, a smile filling his face.

“My Lord.” The King addressed him, gripping both his shoulders.

“Your Grace.” They exchanged a laugh of sorts, settling down at a table. Jon took a drink from his cup and sighed, shaking his head.

“Look at us. A King and a Lord.”

Gendry grinned. “Following in our fathers’ footsteps.”

Jon’s eyes hardened for a moment before he looked away, finding Daenerys across the room.

“Our fathers.” The King repeated softly. Gendry watched as the Queen spoke to Tyrion, her eyes finding Jon’s before darting away.

Even from a distance, Gendry had realized something had shifted between Jon and Daenerys. Where they’d once been shyly affectionate, they were openly supportive of each other. They spoke in whispers during meals and any important gatherings. The King and Queen acted as partners, and it made Gendry wonder if perhaps they’d become more than just allies.

“Do you love her?” He asked quietly. Jon’s head whipped around in surprise, his eyes wide.

“Daenerys?”

Gendry chuckled at the informal address, taking a small drink of his ale. Jon’s brow softened and he let out a small sigh.

“What I feel is…” He looked back across the room before he shook his head and lifted his cup for another drink. With a hard swallow, he grunted. “…difficult to explain.”

Gendry dared to glance across the hall, watching as Arya sat next to the Hound, a smirk flickering across her features.

“When were you going to tell me you knew Arya?” Jon asked. Gendry spat ale back into his cup as he tried not to choke. The King laughed a little and clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, Gendry. She told me everything.”

The blood rushed from Gendry’s face.

“Everything?”

Jon grasped his shoulder and pulled him in close.

“You protected my sister when she was defenseless. I can’t give you any more titles, but I owe you Gendry. On my life, I swear it.”

“You owe me nothing. Arya protected me.” Gendry nodded when Jon frowned in confusion. “The gold cloaks came for me when we left Kings Landing. I didn’t know why then…all they said is they were looking for Gendry.” His eyes found Arya across the room and she caught him looking. Tearing his gaze away, he smiled to Jon. “She lied about who I was, named a dead boy as Gendry when she could have turned me over to save herself.”

“Arya has always had a good heart.” Jon murmured, nodding in understanding. “Even now, I can still see it.”

“Even now?” Gendry asked, puzzled. Jon sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“What happened with Lord Baelish—“

“She was protecting your family.”

“I know.” Jon agreed. “But the way she moves… the way she fights…” The King looked over his shoulder at Arya. “She’s not the little girl I left in Winterfell.”

“She’s not the girl I lost either.” Gendry murmured. “But we’re not the boys we were once.”

“No. No, we’re not.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this so quickly, it's probably a mess. I'm hoping it's not too removed from their characterizations. I don't want to rush this, because I don't think these two would rush. I appreciate the feedback so much, even the critique! (However, please forgive my word choices. I was trying to get this out instead of spending time rereading)  
> Thank you for reading!

It was late when Gendry finally left the great hall. The night was freezing, chilling him to the bone in the few seconds it took to cross from the castle to the door of his forge.

When he stepped inside, his eyes fell closed in reverence. Heat was a beautiful, rare thing in Winterfell. Rubbing his hands together in front of the flames, he fed it several logs and tried to remember the terrible summers of King Landing. He summoned the long, sweaty nights to memory in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering.

A small sigh startled him around.

Gendry’s heart stopped as he took in the sight before him. Arya was curled up on her side, sleeping on a small cot that sat along one wall. He’d had it brought there after they’d given him rooms in the castle, feeling more at home in the forge than he’d ever be in a feather bed.

And now Arya was sound asleep on that little cot. He smiled as he watched her, realizing how long it had been since he’d seen her asleep. They’d slept on the ground and worse. They’d been captives and travelers. They’d been hungry and lost. But they were at least always together.

“Gendry.”

He inhaled hard as Arya whimpered his name, her face twitching. She wasn’t awake, but she called him again in her sleep.

“Gendry.”

Moving quickly, he crossed the room to her side. Her expression flickered between anger and anguish. Gendry fidgeted uselessly, hesitating. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and carry her back to her bed, where she would be comfortable and warm. But he also wanted to cover her in his body, keep her warm himself on the little cot.

When she gave a small grunt, Gendry made his choice.

He moved slowly, lifting her shoulder to ease under her torso. Slipping his body onto the cot, he placed Arya’s weight on his chest, covering them both with a blanket. The moment he was done, he knew she was awake. Her breath had changed. Her unchecked expressions were gone, replaced with her mask: smooth and unreadable. But she didn’t open her eyes. Arya was perfectly still atop him, like she was waiting to see what he’d do next.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked, his chest rising and falling as he spoke. Arya shifted on him, opening her eyes to stare up into his.

“When she took you.” She stated. There was no hint of emotion in her words, no lilt of pain. But he’d heard the way she’d called for him. He knew her new, controlled tone was a lie.

“You sounded scared, my Lady.” Gendry closed his eyes. He anticipated anger, or a blow.

“Don’t call me that.” Her tone forced him to look. She was far away, staring past him, through him.

“Arya.” Their gazes locked. He was content to stay that way for hours if it pleased her. But she broke the stare, running her fingers over the hem of his tunic.

“I was scared.” She admitted. “I watched them take you away and I could do nothing.”

“I’m fine.” He reassured her. With a wrinkle of her nose, Arya frowned.

“I heard what you said to Ser Davos. Bled and imprisoned.”

“That was years ago, Arya.”

“But it happened. Because I did nothing.” He frowned in surprise.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” He pressed. Arya wouldn’t look at him, so he reached for her face. Her jaw was so delicate; he cradled her chin like she was made of glass. “Arya, you can’t think that.”

“I can think what I like.” She replied curtly.

“Seven hells.” He grumbled. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.”

“I saw my brother’s body, his direwolf’s head sewn on his neck.”

Gendry jumped with shock.

“Why—“

“I lost my sight, I starved. I begged for money on the street. I was stabbed.” Arya stared at him, torturing him with her words.

“Stop.” Gendry hissed. “Just stop.”

“Why? Because it hurts you to hear it?”

When he found her eyes again, one of her brows rose. This had been a duel and he had just lost.

“Fine.” He muttered. “But what happened to me wasn’t your fault.”

“And what happened to me wasn’t yours.” She answered.

The agreement settled between them and Arya nuzzled his chest, sending bolts of delight through Gendry’s limbs. Having her touching him was intoxicating. He could die happy, knowing her like this.

“I came in here to congratulate Lord Baratheon.” She mumbled into his tunic. “But it was so warm, I couldn’t resist just closing my eyes.”

“Then close them.” Gendry whispered.

What he was proposing was improper. It would make them both the targets of gossip. But this could be their last night. It could be their last hour. The dead were coming for them all; damn if he wasn’t going to hold Arya Stark as long as he could.

“Did she use your blood for magic?”

Gendry squirmed, his body suddenly too small for his skin.

“Yes.”

“Did she cut you for it?”

He looked away, his cheeks growing hot as he recalled Melisandre’s seduction. At first, he’d been surprised at her touch. He’d been excited by the attention of a beautiful, powerful woman. But then she’d bound his wrists and feet and brought out the leeches. Gendry remembered how fear had wrapped around his throat, squeezing as he’d begged. Begged for her to stop. Begged for her to not put the leech _there_.

“Gendry.” Arya’s voice brought him back, his heart pounding in his chest. She splayed her hand across his ribs, feeling his fear beneath her palm. “What did she do to you?”

“I can’t…” He swallowed, shame burning his face. “Not with you.”

She looked up at him, eyes searching.

“Ask me.” She demanded suddenly. Gendry cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask you what?”

“Anything.”

“Arya—“ He moaned.

“I won’t lie to you.” She vowed suddenly. “I can’t lie to you.”

Gendry stroked her jaw with his thumb, waiting until he had the courage to tell the story.

“She touched me…” He started slowly, driving away the impulse to lower his hand. “I’d never been with a woman. Her touch was…hard to resist.”

Arya looked away, her fingers picking at his tunic.

“She was beautiful.”

“She was a witch.” Gendry shot back. “She had leeches and put them on me. On my cock.” He shuddered and Arya laid her head on his ribs. “If I’d had a choice, I would have chosen a knife to what she did.”

“She could have killed you.” Arya whispered. “I’m glad she didn’t.”

He sighed, pulling her closer. It was natural, having his arm around her.

“She was going to. She had my uncle ready to burn me at the stake.”

“Her name is on my list. I would put it there twice if I could.” Arya’s voice was like venom. For the first time, she let her composure slip. Gendry blinked down at her.

“You put her on your list, for me?” He breathed. She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” He shrugged, but it didn’t register under Arya’s weight.

For a while, he stroked her back, running his fingertips along her spine with lazy swings of his arm. They were content to stay that way, listening to the fire crackle.

Gendry thought about the things Arya had mentioned: seeing Robb’s body, being blind, starving, and stabbed. It made his stomach hurt, thinking of her in pain. Thinking of her hungry or afraid. He imagined finding her, scooping her into his arms to keep her from harm. He imagined escaping the Red Woman, running through the forest to find Arya. Maybe he could have surprised the Hound. Maybe they could have run fast enough to get away.

“You’re grunting.” Her voice stirred him and Gendry realized he’d dozed off. Arya looked sleepy, her eyes drooping closed. “Don’t think.” She whispered. “Sleep.”

* * *

 

When he woke, Arya was staring at him with wide, grey eyes.

“Kiss me.”

Gendry took a long inhale, thinking perhaps he wasn’t actually awake yet.

“What?”

“Kiss me.” She repeated. Demanded, really. He sat up, fumbling around like a boy. Her hand covered his and she leaned forward until their noses were practically touching. His heart was pounding as he cupped her face in one hand, bringing her closer. Arya remained unmoved, her face flat. Her mask was on.

“No.” He whispered. She blinked.

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss Arya Stark.” He said sweetly, touching her cheek with the tip of his finger. “You’re hiding her from me.”

She jerked away.

“I’m not hiding.”

“You are.” He lay back, watching her with a grin.

“You’re being stupid.” Arya muttered, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re the one being weird.”

“I am not!” She snapped, pushing away from him.

“Woke me up, demanding a kiss.”

“Forget it.” Arya growled, moving to leave. Gendry smiled wider and caught her arm.

“There.” He said gently, cupping her face once again. “There’s Arya Stark.”

Under his palm, he felt her cheek warm.

“I don’t—“

“Come here.” Gendry purred. Like he’d wanted, Arya’s mouth opened in surprise. She blushed for him, lips parted as he drew her close. Any defenses she’d laid were gone. This was the woman he’d wanted, not the guarded shadow.

Gendry pressed his mouth to her bottom lip, chastely. When she didn’t kiss him back, he tilted his head and opened his mouth. The second kiss was deeper, caressing. Arya shuddered and exhaled through her nose as he pulled her closer. He kissed her harder and she moved her mouth against his.

His body stirred.

“Arya.” He pulled away but she grabbed him by the front of his tunic to pull him back.

“Shut up.” She kissed him with a zeal that made his breath come in shorter bursts. The tip of her tongue grazed his lips and Gendry groaned. When he pulled away this time, he shot out of the cot.

“Seven hells.” He swore, rubbing a hand over his hair.

“Was it so bad?” Arya hissed, embarrassment turning her face and neck a funny shade of red. Gendry only gaped dumbly at her.

“Bad?” He swallowed, still tasting her. “Gods, Arya. Did you hear me? Those weren’t bad sounds.”

She blinked at him for a moment.

“Then why did you stop?”

He gave a short, soft laugh.

“Because I could still **think** to stop.”

Arya’s cheeks blazed and a little grin formed on her lips.

“I think I get it now.” She murmured, eyes lowered to stare at her hands.

“What?”

“Why you couldn’t resist the Red Woman.”

Gendry sat back on the cot with a rough flop. Dipping his head, he forced Arya to look him in the eye.

“She is nothing compared to you.” He stated. “No one will ever be like you.”

Arya smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat.

“It’s almost morning.” She pointed out with a little smirk.

“Almost.” Sliding into the cot, he stretched out. “So get back here so I can go back to sleep.” As Arya slipped back under his arm, she grabbed a handful of his tunic, the material bunching between her fingers.

“I haven’t slept so soundly in years.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. Gendry settled his cheek against the top of her head.

“Me either.”


End file.
